


on the edge of the world

by sakon



Category: A3! (Video Game)
Genre: Gen, pre-Mankai
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-25
Updated: 2020-10-25
Packaged: 2021-03-09 05:07:31
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 310
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27198253
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sakon/pseuds/sakon
Summary: He cannot see through the black of night, and Matsukawa wishes he could take pleasure in those tiny beauties, but they (too) are bitter reminders.
Comments: 6
Kudos: 21





	on the edge of the world

The sun has been replaced. If he looks outside, he might see the stars mapping together in unity -- and that, like everything else, is a bitter reminder.

The dorms have become quiet, nothing but the weight of footfalls, the ones that have gotten quieter, more careful, and the ever occasional beat of wings, but nothing more. That's fine; after a while of being alone in the dorms, the years calling his bones to show and his clothes, once so fashionable and pretty into dust-- he's gotten used to the little company, or lack thereof.

(Kamekichi's sufficient company-- or he wishes Matsukawa could be. The parrot tries in his inelegant, brutish manner. Matsukawa must be grateful for that, even if it never helps.)

But he isn't there now. Kamekichi is in his own space, thinking of the mindless, trivial things that seem bigger than the world, and it must be nice. He can't see in the dark like an owl, wonder through the sleepless nights all too well, but he is still happy in the quiet hours.

(That's every hour, now. Each one blurs into the other, and he often doesn't know which one is which-- day or night?)

Like everything else, he wishes the same. There isn't much he can do about it, though. Matsukawa can barely keep his suit's buttons together with the half-learned lessons in high school; how could he bring together a whole company? He tried once. That once was a long time ago, and through the thick of night, the one that used to be doused in noise, he cannot see the light.

The stage-lit stars shudder millions of miles away, and the wind moves millions of things bigger than itself.

He cannot see through the black of night, and Matsukawa wishes he could take pleasure in those tiny beauties, but they ( _too_ ) are bitter reminders.


End file.
